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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25848106">Wings Wrapped Around</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/portraitoftheartist/pseuds/portraitoftheartist'>portraitoftheartist</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aziraphale Comforts Crowley (Good Omens), Because I can, Comfort, Comforting Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley’s pov, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Minor hints at cook/baker Crowley, Phone Calls &amp; Telephones, Soft Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 05:29:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>957</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25848106</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/portraitoftheartist/pseuds/portraitoftheartist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Once in a while Aziraphale goes out of town for book conventions. Some days Crowley tags along, some days he does not.<br/>This is one of these days.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Wings Wrapped Around</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I guess I have a pattern of writing comfort fics with these two where Azi provides the comfort.</p><p>This is, once again, inspired by my relationship. I can’t tell you how refreshing a simple thing such as a phone call can be when you’re too deep in your thoughts.</p><p>There’s nothing major in Crowley’s thoughts though so don’t worry. It’s just him thinking about Azi and being soft.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Though not often, book fairs and conventions, especially ones held by people like him, was something Aziraphale liked to attend. First few times Crowley tagged along as well. Getting to see <em>angel</em> marvel at the books he saw and things he learned was a sight to enjoy.</p><p>Contrary to what people assumed, Aziraphale’s eyes wouldn’t shine and be filled with sparkles that easily, this could only occur by certain things<em> or a certain someone. </em>Crowley takes pride in being that someone, and being able to tell the times Aziraphale’s eyes be filled with stars.</p><p>As fun as seeing Aziraphale like this, in a place surrounded with books and antiques, it would get lonely too. Almost like how one feels alone in a crowd, so close yet so far, everything seems to be a touch of finger away.</p><p>And so slowly Crowley started staying back in London more often when Aziraphale was visiting another convention. The doubt in his eyes made it clear he didn’t want to leave him behind. Each and every time, Crowley would convince him not to worry, to go and enjoy his few days long trip, and return with new things for his collection.</p><p>Most of the time it was fine, the wait never too long and never too unbearable. He would experiment with cooking or go outside, choose a random route for the day and enjoy the day in the city. Finding distractions was easy and they were never short lived. Yet few instances were not as good nor easy.</p><p>Today was one of these days.</p><p>The day had started normal, by the time he was up it was past noon. Washing his face to wake up quickly, putting on clothes, taking a look at his serpentine eyes and deciding to keep them, <em>he had no plans of going out anyways,</em>Crowley headed to the kitchen.</p><p>Glancing at the counter and spotting the bread he had baked overnight, he cut a slice and called it enough for breakfast. <em>Olives definitely added a new taste. I should bake this again, for Angel this time.</em></p><p>Mindlessly walking from one room to another, he put on music first. He had no idea which artist was playing, couldn’t tell which instrument it was… After an hour of letting the music play inside and out, he wandered back into the kitchen and prepared coffee<em>.</em> Walking around while holding a mug felt more productive.</p><p>Changing the channel repeatedly until he saw every commercial and sitcom at least three times was not it. Looking out the window and waving at pigeons to capture their attention  wasn’t the distraction he looked for either. Neither was complaining about the colors of his walls to his plants.</p><p>He dragged his feet until he forgot how to walk properly, let his arms hang at both sides until he could no longer pick them up. Head tilted back, staring at his ceiling until his focus was gone, Crowley could no longer feel whole.</p><p>It felt empty. Things felt pointless, made no sense. He could no longer could see the color of the sky and tell what time it is. His attention slipped, brain shut down long ago, gaze no longer on anything in particular.</p><p>And suddenly, right before he drifted off with his rusty senses, something caught his attention. The familiar buzz of the phone and next thing he knew, he plastered the phone to his ear.</p><p>A soft “Crowley, dear, are you there?” was all he needed. For a connection back to the land of the living.</p><p>If you asked him what they talked about on the phone, he couldn’t tell a single thing. He couldn’t name a single topic, a joke, an animal mentioned or a word he spoke out.</p><p>If asked how long did the call go, he wouldn’t be able to give you an answer either. It felt so short yet as long as he needed too. It felt like eternity, for how long Aziraphale’s hot chocolate took to be made, how long Crowley baked a cake. Time was a concept long gone and his joyous time spent with Azi was proof for this. For he was focused to much on nothing, <em>and everything, </em>whenever he was around him, doing something with him or for him; he would be too busy enjoying the moment itself, basking in its light provided by the Angel of his life; he would be so focused on him, his voice, his warmth and touch, his serenity and kindness that he would pay no mind to time, passing minutes and hours, ticks of the clock standing in his house. The only <em>tick</em> and <em>tock </em>that would have any worth, any meaning and any importance to him would be of Aziraphale’s beating heart’s.</p><p>If you asked Crowley what it feels like to hear Aziraphale on a call, he couldn’t tell you anything.</p><p>But he knows how it feels, his presence so strong even on a line that he can feel the warmth of his wings around him, wrapped around his frame, holding him; keeping him safe, sane, one and in place. Even on the phone, hearing the love in his voice is enough to erase Crowley of worries and plagues of his mind, webs tangling around, trying to pull him in, only for the imagery of Azi to appear out of thin air, reach out a hand and pull him out with his presence.</p><p>He could talk about how the sun shines and the earth smells after a rain, how a rainbow decorates the sky, the arm of Milky Way flows strong like a waterfall; whenever <em>he </em>is around. He can tell and talk about all these perhaps but he likes to keep them hidden in his heart.</p>
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